


driftwood magic

by antagonists



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antagonists/pseuds/antagonists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that he takes a closer look at the looming architecture, a lot of it reminds him of the ancient sketches of mystical cities that he’s seen only in history books. To actually be in what ordinary people consider a sacred dwelling of myth has Hijikata feeling both out-of-place and disoriented. It’s like he’s walking through a pipedream, about to wake up from the pretty illusions set before his desert-tired eyes. Each tinkle of a distant windchime, every tap of wishing paper against sunset wood has him sinking into a deeper trance. </p><p>Here, he can always hear the hush of water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the mh4!verse setting, japanese mythology (as usual), and [this post](http://antagcnists.tumblr.com/post/127711146820)
> 
> ive been on semi-hiatus/writer's block since im studying abroad in japan, so no guarantees in quick updates

+

 

 

Hijikata wakes up in the middle of the night to the ear-splitting sound of the emergency horn. He hears loud rumbling and the skitter of feet above deck, then the faint yelling and even fainter sound of wind through the sails. It isn’t until he blinks the sleep out of his eyes and sits up that he realizes the rumbling is not just the ship, but also a desert monster _attacking_ them.

 

This ship isn’t equipped with much artillery besides two basic cannons since it’s only a traveling merchant ship, and they don’t have anyone on board who could possibly take down a monster of decent size. He curses as he stumbles out of bed and out the sleeping quarters, still dressed in his flimsy sleepwear. His hair is probably a mess and his vision is still blurry, but he manages to get himself onto deck right as a barrel of wares spills right over the port side.

 

“Toshi!” Kondo calls. Although he captain doesn’t sound panicked, his voice is still prevalent with worry. “Can you help with the cannon? The others are busy trying to secure cargo.”

 

Hijikata spots Sougo already hefting a cannonball from the back, lurching towards the starboard cannon. On that same side looms what looks like a giant rugged snake, keeping pace with the ship even as they sail over the sands at high speed. In the _Official Guide to Monster Species_ encyclopedia series, Sandworms of all variety are described as beasts notorious for overturning ships throughout the deserts. The hostile Barria generally tend to stay to the east, but the occasional outlier sneaks it way past the malfunctioning electric barriers that divide the lands.

 

No one officially mans the barrier anyways, since it’s in the middle of nowhere with no easy access to food or water. Check-ups are done every full moon or so, and the harsh desert weather doesn’t exactly equate to optimal conditions.

 

This particular sandworm seems abnormally large, adorned with rings of spikes every two segments or so. Hijikata is taken aback by how big it seems. Whenever it rears its head, he catches the glimpse of unblinking green eyes, bright and gruesome in the darkness. He’s had experience dealing with smaller monsters, yes, never one of especially large scale. No one on their caravan is particularly well-versed with “boss hunting” as some like to call it.

 

He notices the sandworm getting closer to the ship and immediately ducks for cover. The ship shudders as a cannon goes off and a great shriek fills the air. Hijikata has to fight against the instinct to escape as he stands and trips his way over to the boxes with the cannon artillery. Sougo, for once, isn’t cracking any funny jokes or trying to kill him, so Hijikata knows that without an actual hunter on board, the crew isn’t going to emerge in prime shape. He’s warned Kondo about this multiple times, but so far they’ve been able to manage with repelling devices and speed.

 

Looking askance at Kondo, Hijikata confirms that the captain is occupied with something else before he drops the cannonball into Sougo’s lap and runs towards their weapon wares. He’s not familiar with much but the huge one-sided longswords, and none of them have the mysterious magic that desert magicians of secret towns use to hunt. Daggers, short tanto, he’s nearly an expert in wielding. Those small blades won’t even make a scratch against the rough skin of a high-ranked monster, though.

 

“Sound the emergency horn again!” he yells in Kondo’s direction, wrestling a well-polished katana (nearly his height) out of its leather casing. The metal and sheath sit heavy in his hand and puts a strain in his arms, both unfamiliar and much longer than the average size sword. He knows the edge to be sharp since he’s usually the one to deal with the whetstones and sharpening, so he’s confident that it’ll be able to at least inflict some damage on the sandworm. He straps it onto his back as quickly as he can and passes Sougo as the cannon fires again.

 

Kondo’s shouting something, but over the beast’s cry, his own racing heart, and the trembling call of the horn, Hijikata can’t hear any of the words directed at him.

 

Once he’s hauled himself overboard and found purchase on one of those deadly-looking spikes, he reaches for the sword, grunting with the effort that it takes to draw. The monster is already enraged from all those cannonballs; he aims at one of those weakened spots the best he can while the sandworm jerks. He raises the katana high with his crude grip and shoves the tip downwards deep through tough skin and muscle. He feels the tremble in his hand and all the way up his arm. Dark blood spills from the deep puncture in explosive spurts, catching Hijikata on the jaw and cheek before he turns his face away.

 

He has to let go of the blade once the sandworm starts thrashing, closing his eyes and pulling himself close to prevent being flung off. Hijikata feels himself slipping even though he’s holding on with all his might. He manages to hold on until an especially violent spasm, and while he flies through the air he winces and braces for impact with the sand.

 

It doesn’t come however, and when he opens his eyes he finds himself in a glowing net of sorts, floating and moving at the same time.

 

“You alright sir?” asks a young boy. He’s dressed in long garb that Hijikata hasn’t seen before, carrying a staff with a large gleaming gem.

 

 _Desert mage_ , Hijikata is quick to realize. There’s a large piece of suspended driftwood beneath the boy’s feet that he maneuvers over the sand.

 

“I’m fine,” he responds a bit slowly, wipes at the hot blood slipping down his face. He’s still a bit stunned that there’s a desert mage right in front of him. The boy smiles in relief and points in the direction of the ship. They’re on the port side now, but Hijikata can still see the witches and mages flinging all sorts of bright spells at the sandworm. Though he and Sougo might have weakened it slightly earlier, nothing they could have done would be up to par with the flurry of magic from staffs, canes, and wands alike.

 

Once the monster gives a mighty groan and slumps over, Kondo’s caravan stops and the boy directs his driftwood board over to the beast. Setting Hijikata down, the boy trots down the length of the sandworm. He finds the hilt of the sword sticking out, manages to free it, and cleans the metal with a simple tap of his staff on wood.

 

“You were brave to have done that,” the boy tells him while smiling. “Had you not bought some time before we got here, it might’ve crushed your ship.”

 

“Yeah,” Hijikata says since he doesn’t know what else to say. “Thanks for listening for the horn.”

 

“No one really comes this way so we were a bit surprised too. Were you looking for the winds here? I heard that some travelers think that the gales in this place are good for shortcuts.”

 

“Something like that.”

 

The boy opens his mouth to say something else, but someone barrels into him and he falls onto his face with a loud scream.

 

“Kagura!” he sputters exasperatedly from the ground, spitting out sand. “I told you not to do that!”

 

“Did you _see_?” a girl is rambling excitedly, ignoring both Hijikata’s expression and the mage’s protests. “I got the final hit! I took the sandworm down!”

 

“Okay, okay, _okay_ ,” the boy sighs. “Please ignore her for now. She’s excited just because she got to hunt without our boss’ permission. I’m Shinpachi, she’s Kagura. We’ll help you get your caravan to our place with the others. Is that fine?”

 

“We’d appreciate that,” Hijikata says, and promptly ducks to avoid the cannonball Sougo chucks at his head.

 

 

+

 

 

A magician city, better known to commoners as an Oasis, brims with all sorts of floating objects and mechanics that Hijikata has never seen before. In the center is a large pool of glittering water, and in the middle of that is a towering mana crystal. Its jagged spires and uneven circumference is both unnerving and magnificent. The light that it sends through the waters illuminates them enough that even the edges seem to glow. Most of the town is suspended over the water, and between small buildings are driftwood bridges and boats for transportation. Towards the back is a giant waterfall that looks as though it comes out of nowhere.

 

“So, welcome to our town,” Shinpachi says, gesturing to the shimmering lights with proud flourish. “We can keep your ship here for repairs, but since our main hunters are actually kind of busy right now, we won’t be able to get the hardy materials yet. I think they’re supposed to arrive today? If they’re on time, at least.”

 

It’s already around noon now, but the magical cove that this Oasis is in remains dark and cool. To Hijikata it almost seems like nighttime, and for Sougo it _is_ nighttime since he’s off dozing in a corner with a mask pulled over his eyes. He glances around the quaint town once more and pulls at his clothes sub-consciously. He feels underdressed in comparison to the flowing robes the magician’s wear, a remarkable development considering he’s usually the one telling others to put more clothes on.

 

Shinpachi shows the group of merchants around the place, pointing out various shops or buildings that they may have use for during their stay here. Hijikata hopes that the visit won’t be too long, but he knows that while repairs might only take a little while, procuring sufficient materials is more than half the battle. As the mages have mentioned earlier, the main hunters aren’t in town until later in the day. He can only hope that they have enough goods to trade in and money to pay.

 

“It doesn’t look so good,” Kondo tells him while they’re surveying the damage. There’s a large gash on the starboard side, running from the mast nearly to the stern. Other than the hole, there isn’t too much outer damage, but Kondo shakes his head when asked about the insides. “We’ll probably have to rebuild part of the engine. Thankfully, most of it was spared since it’s not completely to starboard, but the tiny pieces—what do you call them? Most of them are missing. We have to replace our sails too.”

 

“Wouldn’t sandworm hide be strong enough for sails?”

 

Kondo shrugs. “I guess. We could have them as spares and request tougher material, though, since we’re getting other stuff repaired anyways.”

 

Hijikata eyes the ship, the only home he’s known for years after having been a wandering soul for so long. He counts it as luck that he’d managed to survive long enough for Kondo to pick him up off a town side dune, but diviners have always told him it’s because he still has people yet to meet, people yet to die within his sights and out of reach. He always brushes off those cold hands without a second glance, but during those times when he is alone and pensive, those words come back to haunt him.

 

Somewhere in one of the less busy parts of the town, the people have taken the sandworm corpse and are starting to dismantle the body. It’s an unsurprisingly messy task, and he sees that they’ve put up barriers so that small children can’t sneak in and get an eyeful of something they shouldn’t at their age. They might grow up to be hunters one day, but there is no good in letting the young ones see so much in their childhoods.

 

The process may involve a lot of maneuvering, but the magicians are very deft and efficient in their movements. They drain the blood with siphoning spells first, then cut through the flesh with a largely visible amount of effort. The blood is stored in opaque containers—probably for medicinal purposes. It must be difficult with so few people taking apart such a huge thing, but they still manage and leave Hijikata sort of staring at the scene in both awe and mild fear. He’s not new to the gutting and harvesting of things, but he’s never seen such a large scale operation carried out so quickly and fluidly.

 

Magic, he thinks, is a terrifying thing.

 

Around evening time, when the sun has actually set and leaves the desert awash with the white of moonlight, a loud gong sounds from the main gate. It’s a deep brassy noise, rings throughout the entire cove with the feel of authority and finality. When the tall gates swing open, a small group of magicians stride in with caravan and kill in tow.

 

Hijikata is normally very composed and quick to recover, this is something he takes pride in. Seeing the huge monster tied down and motionless, however, does little good for his heart. He manages only to stare at the damned thing, the talons that are easily his height, the scales and feathers that exceed everything else he’s seen in size, the dull and dead amber eye that seems to look right through him and into another dimension.

 

To the side, as the three-legged beast is being carted away elsewhere, Hijikata spots a man dressed in white. Strapped to his back is a bone glaive, and strips of red headband trail down his back. He looks the very definition of ghostly and threatening until he pulls out a carton of strawberry milk, yawns, and begins to pick his nose.

 

 

+

 

 

Kondo meets with the hunters while Hijikata goes to talk with the chief. He’s only had a brief introduction to the hunters, so all he knows are their names. The other three are not so outstanding, but—Gintoki, that’s an unusual name, and it’s not too difficult to pair with the correct face.

 

The chief is an old woman with sharp coal for eyes. Her expression may be harsh and scrutinizing, but she is kind to them and welcomes them to the town. She herself isn’t a magician, so she turns to a different role in ensuring that there are rules and regulations to follow.

 

Not all of the people here are born with magic, she says. It’s not common in the first place, which is the only slightly true part about the myths; they just have an elevated rate because of their proximity with the giant mana crystal in the center of the lake. All of the people here have varying levels of mana-pools and skill.

 

Gintoki, for one, is widely unable to use magic for anything but procuring his favorite foods. However, he still has the largest mana-pool that any of them have ever encountered, and the residual Blight inside of him does more harm than actual hunting spells do. He doesn’t particularly have any needs to cast magic if he has a curse on his side.

 

“Blight?” Hijikata asks warily. “Isn’t it dangerous to have him around people then?”

 

There’s a reason Blight can so quickly destroy the human body. Bone is extremely conductive for dark magic, which is one of the reasons why children’s bones had been a primary power source in evil sorcery from the past. With a bone glaive, it’s no surprise that that hunter can fell monsters on his own without magic.

 

Otose smiles a bit mysteriously. “I don’t know how that boy got it, but he learned how to control the Blight even before I met him. He’s the first one, and likely the only one, to have overcome it.”

 

“But how?” He’s confused. Blight is a condition that kills people from mere exposure. Not only that, but it’s from dark magic that probably doesn’t even exist anymore, arcane spells that have long since died out with its users. Hijikata is aware that even the areas with remaining Blight have long since been sealed off, and they aren’t mapped anymore. Most of the locations are a part of the southern desert anyways, an area with such treacherous surroundings and monsters that no one except fools venture there.

 

As if he’s a mere child, Otose gives him a small smile. “If he wants to tell you, he will. Just don’t pry—he’s had bad relationships with people who do.”

 

With those vague warnings in mind, Hijikata treks to the repair site for their caravan and peers at the damaged hull, the wood that’s cracked and scarred over the years. A lot of the memories before he’d joined this merchant caravan are full of sweltering desert heat and thirst, sunlight so bright and painful it’d been almost purifying. He runs his fingers over part of the rupture, pulling back when he feels the tug of skin on metal. There’s blood on his hands, but he just wipes it carelessly on his trousers and hopes that it’ll stop bleeding soon.

 

Just because he doesn’t like feeling useless and unproductive, he takes inventory for the second time. Not too much of their stuff is missing, aside from those barrels of preserved fruit and salted meat that they’d lost somewhere in the desert, and they’ll need to trade in what they can with the magicians so they don’t run out of funds and end up being unable to pay. Some of the materials are damaged, but nothing is unsalvageable, so he allows himself a sigh of relief.

 

By the time he completes checking inventory and organizing whatever had been out of place, it has gotten dark and the streets are well lit with colorfully decorated paper lanterns that sway in the desert breeze. He jumps off the rail and onto the ground. He’s feeling tired from this morning, finds that his shoulders still hurt when he moves them excessively. Hijikata has never truly felt the need to relearn how to wield a sword until now, and he makes a mental note to start practicing on his own.

 

When he goes to sleep, a dead eye stares at him through his dreams.

 

 

+

 

 

Come morning, Hijikata’s shoulders are on fire and his muscles ache as if accusing him of neglecting physical training. He stares up at the wooden ceiling for a moment before forcing himself to sit up. A quick glance over at his watch tells him that it’s already seven in the morning, so he does what he can to stretch before rolling off of the suspended sleeping net.

 

His accommodations are fair. In all honesty, they’re the best quarters he’s ever had the luxury of living in. Everything is so strange with the weird mana technology that appears as soon as he thinks he’s getting used to his surroundings. On his way out, he trips over the rug as it floats towards the windows to shake itself out. His bed linens and used towel follow suit as well. He exits his room in mild discomfort at the moving fabric until he notices the cleaning mage outside, directing mana flow towards his door.

 

“Sorry!” he bows. “I thought you’d already left your room. My apologies.”

 

Still a bit dazed, Hijikata nods and brushes his shock aside. He doesn’t quite have anything planned for the day except for that one meeting with the hunters he has to attend with Kondo at a later time. Stopping by their temporary storage, he shuffles through the weapons until he finds the katana he’d used just yesterday. Quietly, it gleams in the morning glow, heavy and deadly in his novice hands.

 

He ends up tying the thing to his back again, feeling clumsy as he tightens the leather straps with shaky fingers. As he walks through the quiet Oasis morning, the tranquility of everything strikes him as—not odd—but unexpectedly soothing despite being surrounded by thousands of kilometers of hungry sands and unforgiving heat. The robe he wears is surprisingly light despite how thick it looks and glitters with the mana leftover from its production. He ties the sleeves back so he can move around easier, finding himself still taken aback at how seamlessly the fabric flows.

 

Now that he takes a closer look at the looming architecture, a lot of it reminds him of the ancient sketches of mystical cities that he’s seen only in history books. To actually be in what ordinary people consider a sacred dwelling of myth has Hijikata feeling both out-of-place and disoriented. It’s like he’s walking through a pipedream, about to wake up from the pretty illusions set before his desert-tired eyes. Each tinkle of a distant windchime, every tap of wishing paper against sunset wood has him sinking into a deeper trance.

 

Here, he can always hear the hush of water.

 

Near the back of the town, where a large stone wall looms like a mountain, Hijikata finds an empty space to swing around his longsword. His hands feel raw as he slowly steps forwards and backwards, wielding the hefty blade the best he can. The most he remembers of his old lessons are the few basic down and side strokes. He’s never really practiced with much of an actual blade since becoming a merchant, but some of the muscle memory is enough to have him running through a pattern until he can no longer lift the katana.

 

“Hmm, acceptable,” says a voice behind him, ringing louder than the underlying (and undeniably loud) giggling. “For a merchant, at least. If you were a hunter, you’d never survive out there.”

 

Hijikata turns to see two men surveying the barren patch he’s chosen as a practice ground. The tall one seems unable to stop laughing, and also seems to enjoy doing so at any kind of inconvenient volume. For one, Hijikata can’t even hear his own breathing right now over the cackling. He recognizes the other man with the head of odd hair. The hunter’s picking his nose disinterestedly, but there’s something like a challenge in the way he stands and peers at Hijikata’s sweaty, amateur form.

 

In the guarded ice of those eyes, Hijikata sees thousands of felled beasts, plucked wings and shattered jaws, the outline of a broken back kneeling beneath torrid rain. He almost takes a step back, but squares his shoulders and continues to stare evenly at the hunter’s burning gaze.

 

“Good thing he’s merchant then, eh, Kintoki?” The loud man laughs, and there’s so much of him that Hijikata thinks it’s a small wonder that his voice is so obnoxious. “Isn’t he, aha, like, our guest though? Haha! Looks sorta mean for a merchant, ha!”

 

“It’s _Gin_ toki,” the hunter scowls. “And he’s not deaf. Probably, I think.” He squints at Hijikata for a good few seconds. “You’re not deaf right?”

 

Hijikata squints back.

 

Satisfied with something, the hunter leans back and nods. “Okay then. I’m Gintoki—the idiot next to me is an idiot, so just call him that. I was told you needed us to hunt or something?”

 

“To repair our ship, yes.” While Hijikata’s sheathing his sword, not as efficiently as he would like, he feels eyes on him, observing every unpolished move as though they are painful memories. “We’re exclusively a merchant caravan, so we don’t have anyone who can hunt large monsters.”

 

“So what kind of materials?” says the tall idiot. “Can I remodel your ship? I can make it real fancy, like those things you see in futuristic novels!”

 

Gintoki ignores his acquaintance. “I’m surprised you’ve survived this long, then. The desert isn’t exactly a human-friendly environment anymore, not that it always has been.”

 

“We rely on speed and warding devices. Our sails are torn and the devices aren’t in prime shape, so we were planning on requesting tough hide for sails and material to mend the hull.”

 

“Oi, Tatsuma, go let Zura know about our client’s wants. Good sail material and hull stuff.”

 

“Hull stuff!” Tatsuma cackles before zooming off. Hijikata’s left staring at the dust left in the idiot’s wake as he disappears over a hill with his driftwood. He’s still not quite used to the idea of surfing, of sorts, with a mere slab of old wood.

 

“Zura knows the materials the best,” Gintoki tells him. “Shame you didn’t arrive sooner, though. Instead of hunting a Yatagarasu, we could’ve gone for a Gashadokuro or something for the hull. The bones are the strongest I can think of.”

 

“That bird was a Yatagarasu?” Hijikata repeats, slightly incredulous. He’s never heard of such a small team chasing after such a legendary beast, let alone take it down unscathed. “You had no trouble with it at all?”

 

“No?” The hunter picks at his ear this time. “Takasugi actually told us to stand down while he beat it up at first contact. He always tries to take the credit, really, but yeah, we could all probably hunt one solo if any of us had the patience for it.”

 

Hijikata blinks, then frowns a bit harder. “And you don’t think that’s strange?”

 

“What, that we’re good enough to solo a boss-level monster?” Gintoki moves onto scratching his head idly. “We’re kinda all weird, so it’s not weird. Besides, what’s weirder is your awful form. Who even taught you how to swing a sword?” When Hijikata doesn’t respond, instead blushing with embarrassment, the hunter snorts. “Right, you’re a merchant. Fine, I’ll teach you. I’m the best teacher around, Kagura says so.”

 

Suddenly, Gintoki is very close and pulls the katana right out of the sheath before Hijikata can react.

 

“First,” Hijikata’s told, and there’s breath hot against his nape, “you gotta fix your grip. Your hands will bleed for a bit until you get enough callus. Like this, yeah?”

 

Once Hijikata finally holds the sword correctly and executes about two successful swings out of fifty, Gintoki leans away and sighs. He’s taken steps back since Hijikata is slicing at an imaginary enemy, eyes critical and intimidating. Hijikata tries another tired swing, lifting his aching arms. The sword is extremely close to slipping out of his fingers; his palms are bright red and ugly with split blisters, and there are traces of blood down his wrist. Gintoki frowns, like he’s disappointed, and tosses a roll of bandages his way.

 

“Well,” he says to Hijikata as he picks up the piece of driftwood next to him, setting it down to hover. His expression is a mix of resignation and bitterness. “We can’t all be perfect, right? Fix yourself up so you don’t bleed all over town.”

 

When Hijikata leaves to go meet up with Kondo, the back of his neck still burns.

 

 

+

 

 

Out of the gaggle of the four hunters, Hijikata finds Katsura to be the most well-mannered and easy to deal with (as long as he isn’t cooing at his pet, which is more of an oversized carnivorous duck than a domesticated animal). He’s smart and bright-eyed, conversing with Kondo and Hijikata about aspects of the ship that could be improved with certain materials. Not many of the repair hotspots that Hijikata has gone to are very understanding of their merchant-only group, so Katsura’s easy acceptance both sets him at ease and makes him wary.

 

The other three men are not entirely pleasant to talk to. Tatsuma, the tall one, is always laughing and always talking loudly. He’s a lot like Kondo, a bit less obscene, but still unnecessarily obnoxious. Then there’s Gintoki, who always looks half-asleep or bored to death. Who Hijikata finds the most unpleasant, however, is the captain. One would expect that the leader of a group should be the most diplomatic and polite, but Takasugi is all kinds of rude and brash.

 

“Traveling here without a hunter was rather ill-thought of you,” he tells Kondo, his smile thin and forced. “You do realize that our services do not come without a price, correct?”

 

“We will do our best to accommodate your prices,” Hijikata interrupts, since Kondo has a limited vocabulary and wouldn’t say the best things in this kind of situation. “We do have some coin, but we are also willing to trade in items of good worth.”

 

Takasugi stares at him calculatingly, and Hijikata feels a lot like his insides are being scrambled to pieces with an imaginary carving knife. Then after another silent moment, the leader tips his head slightly to indicate their consensus on price. Honestly, Hijikata would prefer to intimidate since he’s better at that than compromise, but Takasugi doesn’t seem the type to yield or fear much of anything really.

 

“Right, well,” Katsura interrupts, effectively silencing Takasugi and shoving him off his seat. He goes down with a surprised yelp that turns into a wheeze when Gintoki sits on him. “I have a good idea for the materials we’ll need for your repairs. Luckily it shouldn’t be too difficult to find the monsters themselves, but there’s always been a rather low success rate with successfully gathering inugami fangs. Gashadokuro bones should be more than enough to fix your hull and make it sturdier than it was before. If you need us to gather any particular herb or root, we will do our best for that, too.”

 

“You mean it’s not too difficult to find them if Tatsuma does his job properly,” Gintoki snorts. “Last time we went on an expedition, he had us going in circles for hours.”

 

“I can navigate,” Hijikata finds himself saying, instantly regretting it the moment the words leaves his mouth. “I’ve studied maps for regions all over, though I haven’t necessarily gone exploring in all of them.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Kondo laughs right then, startling Hijikata with the sudden outburst. “Toshi knows a lot of things! We’re all merchants, but he’s probably the best fighter out of all of us. When we get sick he’s always finding the right medicine and whatnot to treat everything. If you don’t mind, I could send him along with you for the extra help since we’re asking you such a big favor. He has experience in treating injuries too.”

 

“I don’t know,” Takasugi calls from the floor, looking smaller now that Gintoki is poised over him. “He might just get in the way.”

 

“Sh,” Gintoki says, smothering Takasugi’s mouth with one hand. He then turns to give Hijikata a considering look, quiet and menacing. Then, as quickly as his face had darkened, he smiles and waves daintily with his fingers, seeming as though he’s not sitting on another man’s stomach. “We could always use someone else. Having a midget on the team does no good for our team image.”

 

“If that’s the case, we’ll have you discuss particulars about navigation with Tatsuma later. He’s out on some errands right now since he was being too loud for Takasugi here.” Katsura smiles, still the nicest out of all of them, and continues conversing with Kondo about their plans.

 

For the remainder of the meeting, Hijikata sits back and tries not to talk too much, still overwhelmed that he’d actually offered to help. What does he know about hunting in the first place? He won’t admit it to Takasugi’s face, but Hijikata is well aware that he could slow the hunters down should he do his job improperly. The thought of going out, though, of experiencing thrill and adrenaline, had caused his mouth to work faster than his brain.

 

Sougo had actually asked him, once, after he’d finished restringing a bow: “Why are you a merchant of all things?”

 

In response, Hijikata had fired an arrow in Sougo’s direction, but their little bartering specialist has always had an uncanny sense for any danger headed his way. The arrow, instead of impaling Sougo between the eyes, had left a sizeable gouge in the port side of their hull.

 

When they leave the quaint little hut surrounded with all manners of spooky lanterns, the sun is low in the sky from its crushing descent into the dark-lined horizon. Hijikata pauses in his steps for a brief moment to stare, then turns back to the entrance of the hunters’ home. Above the roof tiles sits a demon figure, head held in one hand and mighty staff in the other. The mere sight of it sends a chill down his spine, and he turns his eyes away from the extending shadows.

 

“Ah, Oogushi,” Gintoki calls, and Hijikata doesn’t know that the words are directed at him until Kondo nudges him with a shoulder. “Preparations should take a few days or so. I’ll come find you when it’s the evening before departure.”

 

Hijikata nods numbly, unable to speak. For a split second, he thinks, he’d seen a decapitated corpse reflected in those bored eyes, but when he looks back at Gintoki to make sure, there is nothing but the reflection of sunset. “I’m not Oogushi,” he finally says, but Gintoki simply looks at him strangely and shrugs. When he turns around to go back into his home, his hair looks as though it is on fire.

 

By the time he and Kondo reach the sleeping quarters, dusk has fallen, leaving the Oasis festively spotted with floating lanterns. Hijikata almost expects faces to appear on their eerily calm countenances, or to at least see some sort of haunting spirit spill out of the soft glow. He’s heard a lot of ghost stories in his younger days when he’d wandered around close desert villages and eavesdropped on bonfire gatherings. Hijikata has always wondered how one would go about exterminating a spirit. Shamans aren’t so common nowadays, and the few that he’s seen are usually on the streets, silently waiting (wishing, hoping) for someone to ask for their services.

 

 Abandoned shrines are not so rare a sight these days.

 

He returns to his room and takes a long glimpse around at the inanimate objects sprawled across the room. On the desk are his papers and files, pens neatly set away on one side. His bed is made and smells of fresh linens, bathrobe hanging from the back of the door. In the corner to his left hangs his merchant garb, and behind them, the heavy katana. He takes one long look outside, then back at the beckoning metal.

 

The desert nights may be cold and unsympathetic, but the blood that drips from his blisters is certainly not.

 

 

+


	2. Chapter 2

+

 

 

On a hunter’s caravan, Hijikata feels somewhat powerful. The feel of the wood and metal beneath his feet is much more aged and experienced. It is solid and combat-ready where the merchant caravan had just been stocked with goods. The wildly decorated ship, which they call the Joui, is painted with bright war colors. It doesn’t move anywhere near the speed that Hijikata is used to, but he figures that since the ship isn’t unarmed, the people don’t really need to outrun any beast that comes after them.

 

Tired from his late night practices and the burning wash of sunlight over his back, Hijikata finds a crate to sit on near the stern and picks at his bandaged hands. The motion of curling his fingers towards his palms sends a thrill of pain down his arms, sharp and lancing. After returning to his sleeping quarters, he’d been sure to soak his hands in saltwater for several minutes, grimacing and shaking with the effort to keep his hands in place. Finding the proper herbs for a salve hadn’t been difficult, but grounding them into a paste fine enough to use had been enough for him to bleed again.

 

For now, some of the blisters have partially healed. They’re still sensitive to quick movement, though, and he knows that when he practices again, they will tear for sure. He’s good at hiding his pain, so no one but Kondo had noticed them before he’d been led to the caravan. Well, that’s what he thinks until something flies his way and he has to catch it.

 

He hisses, glancing up from the fruit in his hand to the person who had thrown it. Gintoki stares back at him blankly, half-eaten fruit in his left hand.

 

“You’re not very good at acting,” Gintoki tells him as he sits on the floor next to Hijikata’s crate. “All the others are just too dumb to notice anything. Actually, no, Takasugi noticed but he’s the type to hoard information for blackmail. The other two are oblivious.”

 

Hijikata would turn his face the other way, but then that would be he’d be facing the sunlight. He debates the pro and cons of facing the sun rather than Gintoki, but concludes that he’d rather let his ears suffer than burn the skin off his face. He remains silent and turns the fruit silently in his hands. It’s shaped like an apple, but the color is like the sky trapped between dusk and midnight. When he glances over at Gintoki’s identical fruit, the insides gleam bright red.

 

“Oh, this,” Gintoki says, raising his left arm. “It’s an apple, no worries. I grow mine specially though, so they might taste different from the usual kind.”

 

“You grow apples,” Hijikata repeats, lifting the apple up to squint at it.

 

The hunter takes another bite of his apple, teeth glinting momentarily in the sun before they sink into juicy red. “Well, yeah. No one really makes food the way I want it. A man’s gotta go lengths to eat properly, y’know?”

 

Hijikata takes a tentative bite and jerks his lips away immediately.

 

“Why is it so sweet!” he exclaims, eyes watering from the enhanced taste of natural sugar and something else. The red insides are heavy on his tongue. “Is there something wrong with your taste buds?”

 

Groaning, Gintoki rolls his eyes and continues eating his apple like there’s nothing wrong with it. “Oh no, you’re one of _them_.” When Hijikata glares, the hunter sighs and adds: “One of those people who don’t know how to appreciate true food. Ah, my heart aches! You’re too far gone for me to save you. But maybe if you finish that blessed apple there might be a chance for you to redeem yourself.”

 

Hijikata scowls. He really doesn’t want to eat the rest of this blasted fruit. For a second he considers chucking it over the side, but then he sneaks one glance at Gintoki and flinches at the hard gaze. He doesn’t think that simply throwing the apple away would bring out Gintoki’s bad side, but the hunter tends to be an exceptional phenomenon in comparison to the average human male. Or just the average human in general.

 

“I don’t want it,” he finally says, holding it away from his face. “You can have the rest of it.”

 

“Gimme,” Gintoki says immediately, having finished his own apple and reaching out for Hijikata’s. “Such a shame that no one can share my culinary tastes. At least that means more for me.”

 

“No, you just have a really bad sweet tooth.”

 

“Think so?” Gintoki replies idly, waving his hand in the air as if summoning something. Hijikata thinks it is an odd and purposeless gesture, but then he sees a pink carton flying their way. He stares as the hunter grabs it out of the air.

 

“So you really can’t use magic for anything other than food,” Hijikata says.

 

Gintoki snorts before tilting his head back to drink the milk. The line of his jaw and throat is sharp in the sunlight. “Nope. Wasn’t born in the area anyway. None of us here are, actually. Kagura’s not even from the same continent, but she lived in a place where magic was common, so there’s that.”

 

“You learned from the other magicians at the Oasis, then?”

 

“You mean in Kabuki? I mean, I guess, but that stuff’s not really interesting. Tatsuma’s tricks are more useless than mine; he just teleports to random locations and gets lost, and Takasugi tends to make everything combust if he uses his magic. Good for hunting, I guess. His bard skills are abysmal though. Zura, actually, can only tame useless animals and make them his useless pets. So yeah, all of us are pretty useless with magic.”

 

Hijikata leans his back on the side of the ship, turning his head slightly to avoid getting sunlight in his eyes. He’s always been accustomed to the heat, especially with how he never has had seasonal outfits, so the sweat that trickles down his brow isn’t too bothersome. “So what do you use to hunt monsters?”

 

“Weapons, duh. If you’re asking about specifics, though, Zura does the explosives and traps, Tatsuma specializes in range, and our little angry munchkin handles the big switch axes and buster swords.”

 

From his time spent in the market, both bargaining for purchases and sales, Hijikata has become familiar with the different weapons and what they are capable of. He’s not sure whether this knowledge does much good to him though since he’s only able to wield a longsword like an undertrained teen at best. But since he is aware of that hunter jargon that Gintoki keeps spewing, he doesn’t feel quite as useless as he’d initially thought he would. It’s a nice development, he thinks, feeling exhilarated in the wild and not completely incompetent for it.

 

Gintoki begins a tirade of narrating some of his hunting missions, the majority of which is just him criticizing the rest of his team’s actions and calling them special fools. He’s very animated when he’s talking about Takasugi’s general lack of height and Zura’s apparent lack of intelligence. Hijikata doesn’t hear much more than that, though, since he’s started to doze off. He’ll stare in Gintoki’s general direction, but doesn’t see much more than the brilliant shine of silver hair in his sleepy daze.

 

“Oi,” Gintoki says after realizing that no one is really listening to him. “Are you ignoring me? Did you really just fall asleep on me?”

 

“No,” Hijikata grumbles, opening his eyes a little wider so he seems awake.

 

“Such a delicate princess,” Gintoki sniffs, but leaves Hijikata alone to his doldrums.

 

 

+

 

 

When the ship finally lurches to a stop on the edge of the northeast border of the desert, Hijikata steps onto forest ground for the first time in his life. Many of the herbs and other medicinal plants he’d only seen in informational books are right in front of his eyes, a marvelous and fresh sight. He actually picks some of the leaves from a plant, remembering that dried and crushed into powder, it makes an excellent tea for upset stomachs.

 

Tatsuma, even though he might have struck an imposing figure while he was glancing at the maps and steering the caravan, seems to lose all affinity for balance and common sense once he steps back onto land. First, he vomits to the side, then stumbles forwards. He falls face first into the grass and bramble, standing up only with the help of Gintoki yanking him up by his hair.

 

“Welcome to the Blue Forest,” Katsura announces proudly. “This place is really famous for its monstrous insects and valuable minerals. We’ll be hunting for Aosaginohi and mining metals for your engine parts and nighttime lights. They’re generally really harmless, so you shouldn’t be in any danger.”

 

He’s familiar with the tales of the bright blue-white light of the cranes, but again, has only seen them in illustrations. Hijikata trails after the hunters with wide eyes as they dip beneath the heavy boughs of willows and other greenery. The air is fresh and cool, but he still finds himself covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his excitement. It’s a feeling he finds difficult to describe, one where even his exhaustion melts away into anticipation and where even the air is sweet on his tongue.

 

Around him, he hears the whine of forest cicada, a much richer sound than the rattle of their desert counterparts. On occasion, water will drip from the canopies and onto his head, and he marvels too at the feel of this new water. Even the sun seems different behind the shade of the trees, more bashful and like the white flicker of a candle at night.

 

 

“See this?” Katsura says when they’ve mined most of the stuff away. Much of what they’ve found is common stone, but Hijikata has glimpsed glittering crystals and the occasional gleam of metal that quickly disappears into one of the travel packs. “A lot of ore vein cores have the especially malleable metals that you guys use in parts of your engine.” He picks up a twisted chunk of dulled rock, tossing it in Hijikata’s direction. It feels very lightweight, like it could break with a simple throw, but he’s assured that it’s extremely sturdy.

 

Around the afternoon, Takasugi claims that they have enough material for the engine repairs. Gintoki tells Hijikata that it’s usually Gengai, the odd-minded mechanic of the village, who handles the repairs that have anything to do with technology. Once, the old man had claimed that he’d created a time-machine, but since it broke after they sent a glob of Gintoki’s boogers to who-knows-where, they have yet to confirm its effectiveness.

 

They’ve also been gathering other things, hunting small prey for meals back at the Oasis and gathering herbs and the like for medicinal purposes. Katsura says that the Aosaginohi are typically easier to find at night since they give off a distinct blue glow. In the dark shade of the forest, it should be relatively easy to find one as long as they don’t scare it off.

 

“We’ll go in three groups,” Takasugi announces. His eyes are hard and jaded, looking off into a darker path where thick vines dangle from high branches.  “I’ll go alone. You four can decide on who you’re going with.”

 

Katsura drags Tatsuma along with him, saying that they work well together, but Hijikata somehow gets the feeling that it’s because mixing a (mostly) down-to-earth personality with one that never stays on the ground negates the bad effects of being alone. This leaves him with Gintoki, of course, and he’s not quite sure if this is a terrific or terrible situation. He just sort of shuffles his feet awkwardly and hopes that the rest of the hunting goes smoothly.

 

“Normally I’m with Takasugi,” Gintoki says as they brush through an assortment of bright leaves. “He’s taking this opportunity to go off alone, that bastard. Why should I be stuck with you?”

 

“ _I’m_ the one who doesn’t want to be with you,” Hijikata retorts, and smacks away a branch that hangs low in his face.

 

He keeps looking around the place, glimpsing the occasional golden flash of a firefly. The lights aren’t quite as harsh as the ones he’s seen in the desert; they’re more glimmery, like the reflection of moonlight in a small pail of water—not delicate, not frail, but verging on the edge of something from a mystical legend.

 

His footfalls aren’t exactly loud on the dense and wet undergrowth, but it’s loud enough to scare away the smaller critters that he can only see the disappearing shadows of. Oftentimes he will find himself holding his breath, just listening to the nature around him and feeling as though he’s venturing through some sort of sacred land. In front of him, even with all that armor of his, Gintoki is just as quiet as Hijikata (if not quieter). It’s almost nice, actually, right up until Gintoki goes and opens his mouth.

 

“I gotta piss. Gotta take a dump too.”

 

“ _Go_ ,” Hijikata scoffs, turning his head when he spots Gintoki settling himself in front of a nice tree. He rolls his eyes at the sound of liquid hitting bark and does his best to ignore it in general. Looking off to the side idly, vision overcome by the permeating darkness and flickers of fireflies, he barely manages to glimpse a distinct blue glow a good dozen meters away.

 

As he’s urinating, Gintoki keeps babbling randomly over the sound of his deed. The sound of his voice grows further and further away as Hijikata draws closer to the light. He can’t hear much besides his own heartbeat and the sound of his breathing, and he tries his hardest to walk with his weight mostly on the balls of his feet for a quieter effect. With every step, the light seems to pulse a little brighter. It’s a hue that both terrifies him and enchants him; he feels that even behind his closed eyelids, the light would still etch a haunting calm into his very skin.

 

When he peeks past the last tree that hides the beast from view, Hijikata is startled to see not a majestic crane, but a floating orb of flame instead. It’s about the size of his head and bobs down slowly, as if nodding to itself. He’s entranced by the way its hypnotizing flames flutter about like butterfly wings, and if he looks at its center, it glows a bright silver.

 

He closes his eyes against the light for a brief moment, reveling in the stillness of the air. Once he opens his eyes, however, Hijikata finds himself surrounded by multiple blue flames, trapped inside of a lopsided circle of suddenly menacing beasts. They don’t move any closer to him, but he feels a sapping effect, as if the pack of light phenomena are leeching energy off of him.

 

Gritting his teeth, Hijikata draws the small tanto that he’d taken along, slashing at the closest one to his left. The flame disappears for a brief moment, then reappears extremely close to his head. Well startled, he makes a small noise and throws himself to the ground, one palm pressed against his cheek. He can still feel the subtle burn of flame along his skin, less like an actual fire and more like the caress of a cold and cruel hand.

 

His thoughts keep tripping over themselves as he tries to remember just where he’d seen something similar. Hijikata might not know all the monsters that the hunters do, but he still has a vast knowledge in many subjects. He dodges the animated flames now, grateful that they seem to lack speed. If he can just remember the name, he’ll figure out how to defeat it, or at the very least, escape.

 

Just as one appears in front of his face, taking on rather agonized, human and familiar characteristics, Hijikata realizes his mistake in letting himself get surrounded. But within a split second, he’s left staring at the blunt end of Gintoki’s bone glaive, face tingling from the discharge of the onibi’s evaporation.

 

“It’s pretty rude to run out on someone while they’re taking a dump,” Gintoki says very casually. “I thought that you were just being your normal pissy self, but it turns out you ditched me to party with these things.”

 

With another swing of his weapon, he dispels another few of the onibi, eyes glowing with a red, malicious glee. Hijikata notes that the pack has stopped moving now, instead bobbing in place as they had been before. It might just be a trick of light, but he swears he can see faces of his past in those taunting flames, mouths open in a cry for help. He’ll blink, and in that brief moment, the faces will shift from despairing to angry, leaving Hijikata frozen in shock.

 

He glances at Gintoki, who peeks at him from behind his bangs. Hijikata sees no physical changes in Gintoki’s demeanor, but there’s something rather menacing about those eyes and the way his weapon seems to shimmer with an odious violet. He straightens himself self-consciously, eyeing the rest of the onibi before them. He wishes that he’d brought a mirror, even a small one, to repel those hideous imitations and drive the memories away.

 

“I think it’s ruder to assume that I’d listen to you pissing,” Hijikata counters. He picks up his dropped tanto and grips at it tightly, like it’s the only thing keeping his mind attached to reality right now. He’s seeing a lot of old faces, both ones from a good past and from a bad past—those memories seem to be scoring hot scratches into his chest. It’s kind of hard to breathe, but he forces a stoic expression. “I was hoping that you’d get mauled by something with your pants down.”

 

For the first time since they’ve met, Gintoki actually moves gracefully with his weapon spinning in hand. The sharp blade end of his weapon whisks through the remaining onibi. Hijikata hasn’t had much opportunity to see any of the hunters in action, so the sudden fluidity confuses him, and he stares into the empty air as Gintoki eases his weapon into its holding straps.

 

“Well,” he says, “at least things aren’t boss level, right? We should probably look for that damned crane, though. I’m hungry and I don’t hunt too well if I haven’t had my fix of strawberry milk.”

 

Hijikata blinks at the hunter’s back, sighing when Gintoki trips over a tree root and nearly falls onto his face. He won’t say ‘ thank you’; he’s always been very tight-lipped when it comes to expressing gratitude, and somehow getting saved by this person has him feeling both very frustrated and lacking. His practice on various weapons alone couldn’t prepare him for these situations, and the fact that Gintoki doesn’t really expect much of him has him thinking about how he really _is_ useless on these expeditions.

 

He trails along quietly for the better part of the evening, and when they are unsuccessful in their venture, they head towards the ship where the other hunters are already waiting. The moon is already high in the sky. He extinguishes the torches and revels in the harsh sizzle as the flames dissipate.

 

“You’re late,” Takasugi says sourly. In a weave basket next to him, there are several dimly glowing cranes, still and quiet.

 

“Shut up,” Gintoki replies, summoning a carton of his favorite milk. “Princess and I had to tango with some nasties, so give me a break.”

 

“It seems that a lot of hunters have come here lately. We didn’t see as many Aosaginohi as we have in the past, so it’s not your fault that you were unable to find one. We managed to collect three anyways, so that should be sufficient.”

 

Katsura, even as he speaks so primly, unmistakably has twigs and the like stuck in his long hair. Besides him, his atrocious pet nips at his ear, drawing blood. The hunter coos all the same and laughs shrilly when Elizabeth chomps at his fingers. Hijikata spots Tatsuma lying on the ground in a puddle of vomit and decides not to ask about what had happened to him.

 

For the most part, the trip back to the Oasis is relatively peaceful and uninterrupted, but as Hijikata is climbing down below deck, he sees Gintoki peering at him from the helm, eyes vibrant and sinister in the moonlight.

 

 

+

 

 

While the ship’s engine core is getting repaired, Hijikata takes to venturing to the outskirts of the village as often as he can. He’ll bring a quiver of arrows and a bow along with his katana to his practices, and quite often neglects to wrap his fingers and palms in gauze out of a sense of insufficiency. He still bleeds a bit, but his palms are rougher, now, and don’t split quite as often as they used to only two weeks ago. He’d like to think that he’s making progress, but then he’ll think about his failure to repel the onibi and forces himself to raise his weapons again.

 

He hates feeling so useless.

 

The merchant life, contrary to popular belief, isn’t as easy as some people may assume that it is. Sometimes they have to acquire raw materials on their own, though they don’t go after actual monster parts, and haggling with stubborn customers wears even the most patient person thin. Usually it’s Kondo who handles talking to the more elite of their guests, but Hijikata has to step in sometimes since their leader isn’t exactly the brightest human being on the planet. He’s even completely lathered himself in honey in an attempt to attract rare insects.

 

Hijikata realizes that merchants do not put themselves in the same dangerous situations that hunters do, but all the same, he feels a burning sense of anger towards himself and lacking ability.

 

Even the soothing chimes of the nearby temple bells and furin aren’t enough to calm his irritation.

 

Around the early afternoon, Hijikata carelessly tosses his blade to the side and slumps over onto the ground, overcome with aches. The stone ground is cool and relieving on his skin, like a cold breath over his lips, and he lays there with his eyes closed. His sweaty hair sticks to his skin but he stays still and simply breathes. In, out. What had his late brother told him again?

 

Something about listening past his own frantic mind and the pulse of his heart, delving deeper than his secret thoughts and reaching out to silence and calm—the shadows of his restless existence. From there, he can straighten the edges of his tangled consciousness and return to being a whole.

 

Except—he keeps remembering those burning screams, and in the faces of his past, Hijikata has always been weak.

 

When he opens his eyes, it is already sunset and he is cold from having been in the shade for so long. He sits up with a wince and reaches for where he’d dropped the sword. His fingers touch only dirt, however, and when he turns to get a better look, he gets a faceful of bright hair.

 

“Y’know,” Gintoki says, “almost all the people I’ve seen give up after a while. Wouldn’t that be easier for you, too?”

 

For that, Hijikata glares at Gintoki and stands up abruptly, ignoring the sudden static in his head from the blood rushing away from his brain. “Don’t you have better places to be?”

 

“No, Kagura kicked me out for being drunk and smelling like booze, so I humbly came here to gaze upon your pretty face.” At Hijikata’s splutter, Gintoki snorts and continues. “You should be thankful that I didn’t let your friend Soda come with me, though I’m pretty sure he’s underage so he shouldn’t be touching booze yet. He had a cannonball with him and I assumed you wouldn’t want that dropping on your face.”

 

“Oh really.”

 

“Well, to be more honest, _I_ didn’t want it dropping on your face. That’d be such a waste, wouldn’t it?”

 

Hijikata looks at Gintoki from the corner of his eyes, noting the faint blush and dilated pupils. Gintoki really _is_ drunk, and that’s the furthest thing from what he wants to deal with right now.

 

“My sword,” he says, gesturing to Gintoki’s hand. “Give it back.”

 

As if he’s truly considering this, Gintoki makes a face, then relaxes his brow again. His eyes, though, are distant, distant stars. “No. If I give it back, you’re gonna leave.”

 

Hijikata reaches for it angrily, freezing when he feels hot breath on the prickling aches of his palms. He moves to pull away, but even drunk, Gintoki is vexingly strong. His gleaming eyes show no signs of being dulled by exhaustion or inebriation. “Oi, let go.”

 

Gintoki ignores him. “If you’re gonna continue practicing, at least take care of your hands properly.”

 

“What I do isn’t any of your business.”

 

“Guess not,” he hiccups. When he stands, he nearly stumbles straight into Hijikata’s chest. “Instead of moping because of how boring the merchant life is, why don’t you just become a hunter? It’s kinda fun when you’re not dying, at least.” Gintoki steps away shakily, slowly climbing back up the steps that lead to the village. Hijikata stares after the head of white, then goes back to sitting on the stone ground, tracing his fingers over the hilt of the katana and dull edge of the blade.

 

By the time he returns to his sleeping quarters, the sight of constellations remains etched into his eyelids.

 

 

+

 

 

Within the next week, the group of hunters leaves on a high-level hunting expedition to slay a Gashadokuro, and Kondo has insisted that Hijikata stay in the Oasis. He’s well aware of Hijikata’s reckless streak and takes efforts to calm him in the face of rash decisions.

 

Hijikata hadn’t really been planning on joining the hunters this time, anyways. He remembers the last time he’d gone, stiff and unable to even get rid of the weak onibi playing with his fears. In the condition that he’s currently in, trying to hunt a Gashadokuro is far out of his league. A few days ago, he would have been angry with his fact, but he’s found a strange peace in accepting that he won’t always be this way. His hands have mostly healed, now, and he takes special care to wrap them in bandages whenever he goes to practice during his free time.

 

Sometimes, he will sit and listen to Gengai rant as he’s tinkering with his machines, eyeing Shinpachi as he fumbles in perfecting his spells. Hijikata isn’t very good at handling all the bits of metal and tools that Gengai keeps throwing his way, often dropping them and putting them in the wrong places.

 

“Can’t even handle a screwdriver,” Gengai mutters before retrieving his tools himself. “Yer really a clueless lad, aren’t ya? Yer like that parfait-brained idiot.”

 

Shinpachi will apologize to him about the mechanic’s behavior, but Hijikata tells him not to worry about it.

 

Close to the Oasis, there lies a patch of desert herbs that Hijikata had found while wandering about one day. It’s barely morning right now, about an hour before the skies will warm into day, and he walks the sands barefoot, sandals in hand. He finds that staying too long inside the village has him feeling antsy since he’s used to traveling so much, so he goes out to gather whatever he can find out in the desert-meadow median that connects the Oasis to the rest of the dry wasteland.

 

He’s found a lot of bones, so far—bones and dry herbs that remind him of too many things.

 

They make for good materials, though, so he ends up keeping them and investing time into handmade products. Sougo teases him for it, saying that he’s grown old and boring, but he makes sure to stay clear of Hijikata when he leaves with a sword strapped to his back. The little brat might express his distaste for the bloody state of Hijikata’s bandages, but Hijikata has caught him secretly practicing how to wield a wakizashi behind the storehouse before.

 

As for Kondo, well. He’s taken to chasing after Shinpachi’s sister for the majority of the day, but she always ends up beating him into the ground, both bare-fisted and with traditional war weapons. Hijikata has asked the young boy where his sister had learned such dangerous arts, and whether she goes hunting on occasion.

 

“Oh, no,” says Shinpachi as Otae violently punches Kondo into the ground. “She just learned how to handle things from our late father. She claims she’s too delicate to go on such missions with a squad of morons, so usually she does guard rounds and other errands in the village.”

 

Delicate, right. Hijikata makes a mental note not to get on her bad side and greets her respectfully every time they pass by each other. She’s young and upright, does well in quelling fights with her ferocious strength. Her innocent smile, however, belies any facet of her temperamental nature. He only wishes that Kondo would stop trying to get her attention in the most ridiculous ways possible. When they finally do leave the Oasis, he doesn’t want Kondo sporting the assortment of injuries that he currently is.

 

Now, Hijikata sits outside on a bench, surrounding by wood shavings and an assortment of strung and unstrung bows. He’s been sitting out here for the majority of the day, shaving away the enchanted driftwood pieces that Kagura had supposedly collected. He’s used to working with finer materials, but there’s something different with working with weapons that have been imbued with mana. The wood, weak as though it may look, feels entirely different from the high-end wood from the northern forests. It look brittle but feels smooth to the touch, and its flexibility and strange aura gives the finished bows an unusual force that one wouldn’t expect.

 

He tries using one once he’s finished stringing the remnants of the wood and is surprised when the arrow shoots clear past the gate, streaking a bright hue he’s come to associate with mana. Hijikata can still feel the echo of string digging into his fingers, the sound of the arrow leaving his fingers and taking off to the skies. Since it’s dark and he’s not particularly fond of journeying out of the Oasis without light, he decides to call it a day.

 

He wakes up to the sound of a hunting horn the next morning, and stumbles out of his bed to look out of his window at the sunrise casting the hunter’s caravan into a blend of light and deep shadow. Even from faraway, he can see the grim set of Gintoki’s shoulders, a sad contrast to the smile he wears on his face.

 

 

+

 

 

“So you’re leaving,” Gintoki says as Hijikata is packing the last of his belongings. The repairs have been done for a few days, but they’d waited for Gengai to give full approval of the ship’s functionality before departing. Currently, Gintoki is lounging on the inn’s bed, staring at Hijikata as he busies himself with his bags. Hijikata likes to think that he can tell that Gintoki’s disappointed, but he’s never quite been able to read the hunter as well as he would like.

 

“We weren’t planning on living here, you know,” he points out as he retrieves his papers from the desk. The inkwell he leaves, since that had been borrowed, and starts collecting the assortment of pens and quills he has laying around. “We were here for repairs, and we need to stock up on goods again. We’ve traded with some of the people here, but the Oasis is pretty limited to the stuff that they can offer.”

 

For a few minutes, Gintoki is silent. He sits up when Hijikata has sealed the last of his bags, however, lips twisted into a childish frown. “If you leave, I won’t have anyone to make fun of.”

 

“You have Takasugi,” Hijikata says idly, strapping his katana to his back. “And Katsura and Sakamoto. I don’t think you’ll be lonely.”

 

The hunter sighs loudly, then, tilting his head when Hijikata looks at him. “I dunno. They might leave for better places. Will I see you again?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Hijikata notes that Gintoki just deflates, sulking as a child would when they’re not given what they want. He rolls his eyes but cards his fingers through Gintoki’s hair, fingers tingling at the warmth. He’s probably blushing, but he ignores the heat in his face in favor of listening to Gintoki whine. They stay in that position for a long while, breathing out of sync and alternating between looking each other and away. They finally flinch apart when Sougo bursts into the room and demands that Hijikata hurry up or risk being abandoned.

 

“Thanks,” Hijikata forces himself to say as he’s about to board the caravan, back heavy with all his things and the sword he’s practiced with. “For all those… things.”

 

“Only the best for princesses, yeah?” Gintoki picks his nose, but with his other hand, gives Hijikata a firm handshake. It doesn’t hurt; Hijikata’s blisters have long since healed and grown into callus. He feels the dark energy in Gintoki’s hand all the same. “Now _go_ ,” he sniffles dramatically, “before I start shedding manly tears and you _have_ to stay.”

 

The ship pulls past the tall, red wooden gates, humming with the strength of the engine. The sails aren’t full with winds yet, but Hijikata can already imagine them stretched out and taut, catching the hot winds of the desert. For the most part, he tries not to look back when they’re a good distance away, but then he sees something bright heading his way and reaches up to snatch it out of the air. It’s a carton of strawberry milk, nearly at its expiration date. He looks back and doesn’t see anything but the last whispers of a magical village saying goodbye.

 

He doesn’t like sweet things, but he drinks the milk anyways.

 

 

+

 

 

When they see each other a few years later, they’re far away from civilization in the middle of black sands, and the moon is making Gintoki’s messy hair look like starlight. Hijikata remembers touching it, once, and feeling as though he’d immersed his hand into a nebula. He misses it, a lot, and wonders if they’ll ever get close enough for that again.

 

Hijikata may still have the Shinsengumi and his caravan, becoming hunters more than merchants now, but this lone little hunter has nothing but the bones on his back and the miasma running thick in his blood. The Oasis is still his home, yet the amalgam of lights he’d carried on his shoulders seems to have fallen into pieces. There are faded black scripts running down Gintoki’s arms, up his neck, down the sides of his jaw. Even now, the black magic is ruthless and tireless inside of him.

 

“You’re alone,” Hijikata says, standing taller and stronger than he had before they’d met. He feels as though he’s changed a vast amount, but the weary look in Gintoki’s eyes has not.

 

Scratching at his stubble, Gintoki sighs. “Yeah, I am.” In his clothes and lopsided bandages, he looks like one of those desert ghosts from horror stories. Tired, tired, so tired, nearly sinking down below the sands to rest for an eternity. Those haunting memories he’d hidden in the past have written themselves all over his pale skin, now. It’s like they’re cursing him, repeating those warlike cries of his past over and over.

 

Hijikata hadn’t heard them when he’d visited the Oasis, but now, he hears them like his own heartbeat, wonders how someone so strong could be no different than him.

 

Walking closer, with only the night stars and moon watching them, Hijikata reaches up to press his fingers into Gintoki’s hair.

 

There’s that—Gintoki’s laughter that flashes like blue and white fire amidst the shadows. Hijikata cups it within his scarred hands, and Gintoki breathes in tandem to the flicker of passing ghosts in the distance.

 

“Did you bring a mirror?” Gintoki asks Hijikata after finishing his sudden bout of laughter. Around them, wispy flames shift between being faceless and being their memories. “I’m kinda too tired to make ‘em disappear right now.”

 

“Yeah,” Hijikata says. When he raises the crude mirror, the imitations of Takasugi’s cruel expression fades into the night, and Gintoki continues to laugh into his ear. In the cold desert night, Hijikata doesn’t so much mind the hot breath on his nape.

 

 

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk this was really  
> ????? a lot of things are vague/unexplained, but adding other things made the story seem weird and i needed a semi-dark ending  
> also i bought too much gintama merch help


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